


Hero

by lacemonster



Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [7]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Grooming, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Kink, Sex Toys, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: A request for "de-aged Clark being groomed by Bruce"A young Clark is picked up by the Justice League so they can help him learn to use his abilities. Clark is drawn to Batman, the only member who hasn't trained him, who is harboring a particular interest in him.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Lacemonster's Gifts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1181402
Comments: 20
Kudos: 149





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywifebruce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywifebruce/gifts).



> This fic was requested by beewitch for boywifebruce! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> For anyone reading this, Clark is really young in this. I didn't have an exact age in mind but I'd say no older than 12. Stay away if that bothers you.

Clark could hear the adults talking in the kitchen all the way from his spot in the barn.

The sun was setting over Smallville. Clark was perched on top of an empty haywagon, staring through the open doors of the barn, watching the landscape change under shifting sunlight. His hearing was getting worse. Or better, according to Ma and Pa, who saw his developments as “gifts”.

He supposed the Justice League saw it as a gift, too. It was enough to bring the world-famous heroes all the way to a kitchen table in an old family farm home in the middle of the Kansas countryside. Clark knew he wasn’t supposed to be listening in, but he couldn’t help it. Every day, his hearing grew stronger. From the barn, he could hear the crows pecking at the strawman in their fields, the slow creak of the tire swing hanging from the tree, a beetle as it landed on the hood of Pa’s truck. And as much as he tried to be good and polite, he heard every word spoken at the kitchen table.

“He’s a boy. He should be worried about homework, not fighting crime,” Pa said. His voice was clear and firm, but Clark could hear the race of his heartbeat. Pa didn’t scare easily and his anxiety only increased Clark’s worry.

The phrase “fighting crime” placed many unpleasant thoughts in Clark’s head. He wasn’t a confrontational person. Any time he saw the horrible things that happened on the news, he felt sick, even if he couldn’t bring himself to stop following the stories. Clark drew his knees closer to his chest, arms holding himself tighter.

“We would never compromise a child’s safety,” a woman spoke. Not just any woman, but Wonder Woman. Clark felt eased by the sound of her soft, poised voice. “We only want to teach him to control his powers. If he wants to join the Justice League, we’d be happy to have him. But only once he’s old enough to wisely make that decision.”

Clark listened to these adults talk for what felt like hours. The crows were replaced with a stray cat that stalked the fields, the tire swing twirled under nightly gusts, and the beetle was replaced with crickets. Clark unwound himself from his place on the wagon, boots kicking up the dust on the dirt path. He wanted to go to that tire swing, or that cornfield, or his Pa’s truck. Anywhere but that kitchen he had been shut out of. But then he listened closer and heard something he hadn’t expected.

“He could help people,” a deep voice said. One that hadn’t spoken through the entire meeting.

That made Clark pause.

He had not only been listening and matching the voices to each person, but had listened to their heartbeats as well. Over time, Clark had learned to read heartbeats like messages. He could tell when a person was nervous or excited. When they were lying. When they were hurting.

It was only at this moment that Clark heard Batman’s heart stray from its usual march.

“Imagine discovering the secret to invulnerability,” Batman said.

“And how do you plan to test that?” Ma said. “No. We can’t risk it. He’s our son. I don’t think you understand that.” 

Clark was on the porch now. Clark leaned the side of his face against the cool door—not to listen, but because his body felt heavy. He had listened to both sides of the argument and felt nothing but turmoil over a decision that wasn’t his.

Going with the Justice League to their Hall was dangerous, scary.

But Clark was curious. Curious to know the source of his growing abilities, how to control them, how to predict what was next. 

How these abilities could truly be gifts. How they could help people.

When Clark opened the doorway, all eyes immediately landed on him. The conversation ceased at the sight of him, even though they had been talking about him all night. Clark looked at them in return. This room of tall heroes in costumes. They looked odd, out of place, in his kitchen.

It was at that moment that Clark realized he had a connection with these people outside of his abilities: they were outsiders, too.

Clark’s eyes scanned over the room. They finally settled on the dark shape in the corner.

“What did you mean that my invulnerability can help people?” Clark asked. Batman stared back. “Can you really figure out something like that?”

“Clark, you’re not supposed to be eavesdropping.”

“Can’t help it, Ma.” Clark ignored the frown on his folks’ faces. He only focused on that serious-faced man standing in the corner of the room. Everything about him was strange to Clark—from his uniform to his dark demeanor. And yet, Clark had to wonder what he seemed like to this man—him, a boy with inhuman powers and a strength that the world had never seen.

Clark’s eyes could see Batman’s, even beneath the white lenses of the cowl, Clark saw a pair of blue eyes staring right back at him. A pair of eyes that watched him with no judgment. He didn’t look at Clark as if he wanted to hurt or use him.

Instead, Clark found something that was mirroring back at him:

Curiosity.

“Relax, Clark. You’re doing great.”

Clark held fast onto Diana’s forearms, hands squeezed around her metal bracers. She held onto him too, her hands warm and strong. He tried to focus on her face and only her face. She always had this heavenly, almost angelic, glow to her skin. Just one look at her made him feel peaceful and safe. But he couldn’t stop noticing how the wall behind her kept changing. His heart raced as that wall continued to slip by.

His hands started to sweat. In his nervousness, he made a mistake.

He looked down.

All it took was the sight of the training room floor leagues beneath his feet to make him _actually_ fall. Everything that he was afraid of came racing towards him—the world rushing past him, the feeling of his own weight betraying him. But unlike the farm, he didn’t have to crash into the hard earth. He didn’t have to crash at all. He had a pair of arms to catch him.

Clark hung onto Diana tightly, dangling from her arms. He craned his neck, looking up at her as she hovered over him. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Should I set you down?”

With a flush of shame burning on his cheeks, Clark said, “Yes, ma’am. Please.”

Falling didn't seem so bad with Wonder Woman present. Diana gently lowered him to the ground, letting him stand on his own two feet before letting him go and landing on the floor next to him.

“You’re getting better. We were much higher off the ground than our last session,” Diana said. Her words felt genuine, but Clark couldn’t shake off his sheepishness.

“I don’t know why I keep getting so nervous. Guess I’m just a coward,” he said. Diana put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I say that you’re very brave, Clark. Not many people would choose to face so many challenges, or even choose to use your abilities selflessly. I think what you need is to trust yourself more.” Diana smiled. “We’ll practice that, too.”

Clark was disappointed when Diana ended their flying session early, but her encouraging words did make him feel better about his failings during practice. He travelled the corridors of the Hall of Justice, heading toward his combat session with J’onn and Hal, but paused when he heard clanking sounds in the distance. He had time and he was curious, so he went to it, listening as metal thudded and groaned. The echoes of their impacts grew louder and louder.

Clark turned a corner only to find a mess of metal scraps hugging against the wall. His eyes moved upwards, where he saw Batman hanging off the ceiling through a series of ropes, removing the ceiling panels and lowering them to the ground. Clark jumped at the harsh sound of a ceiling panel dropping the last few feet from Bruce’s hand to the floor.

Bruce moved onto the next panel, pulling himself along a system of his own design. The way in which he crawled along the ceiling, cape hanging, was funny to Clark. His giggling ceased when Bruce looked down, turning his head sharply in Clark’s direction. Clark offered an uneasy smile.

“Sorry. You just look like a bat. Like a real one, when you’re moving around the ceiling like that,” Clark said. He quickly closed his mouth.

Bruce looked at him for a moment then went back to focusing on his work. His silence put a wall between them. Clark felt his heart sink, as it often did around Batman. Clark had gotten to know the rest of the team well but Bruce was still a mystery, often keeping a distance and staying out of his training. Clark barely even saw him.

“Do you need any help?” Clark said. He could hear that small quiver in his own voice and inwardly berated himself.

“Where are you supposed to be right now?” Bruce said evenly. The words made Clark shrink.

“Diana let me go early.”

Bruce didn’t reply right away. Clark even began to step away but then Bruce finally pointed at a box sitting in the middle of the hall.

“Can you bring me that?”

Clark chewed his lip. The ceiling wasn’t nearly as high in the corridor as it was in the training room—but tall was still tall. He wanted to help but he was nervous about messing up. Clark didn’t feel comfortable making mistakes in front of Bruce like he did with Diana and the others. Sucking in a small breath, he picked up a box that—like most things he was asked to carry—was too bulky for his size, yet too light for his strength.

He lifted off the ground, slowly rising. Clark wobbled more unsteadily the higher that he rose, but he held his breath and didn’t look down, and eventually he was at Bruce’s height.

Bruce took the box. Clark released the breath he had been holding in. And that, at that very moment, a sudden tremor went through his body, making him unsteady. As the reins over his powers slipped through his fingers, he began to panic, tilting back and forth before dropping.

Clark’s stomach lurched as he fell. But just as soon as he had plummeted, he stopped. Bruce had caught him in time, holding him by the back of his collar like the scruff of a kitten. Clark dangled from the man’s hand, his face burning.

“You can just drop me. It won’t hurt.”

“ _Hh_.”

Bruce suddenly hoisted Clark up. Without any instructions, Clark grabbed onto the edge of the remaining ceiling panel and climbed up, using the panel as a seat. Bruce lifted the box that had been tucked under his other arm, which Clark obediently took. Clar resisted the temptation to peek inside with his x-ray vision.

“What’s in here?”

“Cameras. Too many blind spots in this corridor. I have to rewire this first.”

“Cameras for what?”

“Security.”

At that, Clark almost laughed.

“That doesn’t make much sense. Everyone knows that the Justice League works here, right?”

“That’s exactly why we need cameras. Someone with abilities can still be caught offguard.” Clark was staring down below. His swinging feet slowed to a stop when he noticed the pointed look from Bruce. Clark rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m still learning.”

“All of us are—we’re always learning. That’s why we upgrade our cameras.” Bruce went back to his work, muttering, “No blind spots.”

Bruce suddenly lifted himself up, taking the seat next to Clark. He reached into the box, pulling out a drill. Clark stared at Bruce from the corner of his eye as the man worked. His heart started to beat hard and fast. He had so many questions to ask. Clark wanted to know more about him. He wanted to tell Bruce that he had helped inspire Clark to start attending the Hall. But any time he thought about talking, his throat closed up.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

Clark’s head jerked up at that.

“What?”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. The drill buzzed as it removed the old camera from the ceiling. Without even looking away from his work, Bruce spoke.

“You look like you have something to say.”

“Oh. Um. I guess I was wondering if you’d teach me things like this. Or something else that you’d want to teach, like driving, or… something.”

“Flash says you’re pretty fast.”

“Right,” Clark said, shoulders slumping. He shouldn’t have said anything. But Bruce had given him permission to speak and the silence between them felt wrong. “Everyone here teaches me something. When are you going to start teaching me?”

“I don’t have much to teach you. Your abilities are more aligned with the others.”

Clark’s heart sank at that idea. Bruce didn’t even seem to care when he said those words. Clark adjusted in his seat and blurted out, “But you just said people with abilities can be unprepared. So maybe you could teach me to be prepared.”

“The point of your training is to teach you to control your powers. I can’t help you with that.”

“But it’s more than just that,” Clark said. “Back in Smallville, you said I could help people.”

“Based on the studies the League ran, you can endure great attacks without any pain or damage. You can withstand highspeed charges, great falls, bullets.” Bruce paused, not doing anything now, just looking at the new camera in his lap. Then he started to install it into the ceiling. “I was curious about your invulnerability. But to test it further, I’d need to perform experiments. Your parents made it clear that they didn’t want you to be treated like a science experiment. I’m respecting their wishes.”

“You really think my invulnerability could help people?”

“Some people from certain things, sure. There are some things that will hurt no matter how strong you are. But in the right situation, I think it could be helpful.”

“Then let me help. Let me be part of your experiments.”

“I won’t go against your parents’ orders.”

“It’s my body,” Clark said, raising his voice. Bruce’s hands slowed on his work. “Everyone is teaching me how to control my powers. How to stop them from hurting myself and others. But no one seems to know what these powers are for or how I can _use_ them. Everyone treats me like—like I’m a bomb or something.”

“No one thinks that. Quite the opposite. You’re polite, you’re hopeful, you’re generous. You’re a remarkable kid.”

Clark opened his mouth then shut it. This was the first time Bruce had ever complimented him. And though many of the League were kind, Clark was rarely told he was remarkable for anything outside of his enhanced abilities. Bruce’s words made him feel a little more human again. It made him feel like there was something _right_ about him, rather than something just strange and exotic. He only ever felt that way when he was home or when he was pretending to be human.

Clark looked up and realized Bruce was watching him. Clark didn’t know what to say. Bruce spoke for him.

“I was like you when I was a kid.”

“Really?” Clark said, squinting his eyes. 

“I didn’t have powers, of course.”

“But I’m kind of… I don’t know…”

“Mousey.”

Clark shrank in place, his face burning.

“I was the same way,” Bruce continued. “I was probably even shyer than you. But we’re similar in another way—you want to help people. Around your age, I decided I was going to help and protect people. To make sure no one got hurt. The adults around me told me the same things they told you—to focus on being a kid. But that was never enough for me. I needed purpose.”

Clark nodded at that. Maybe he and Bruce were similar.

“If you’re serious about this, then find me in my lab.”

His lab?

“Outside of the Hall of Justice?” Clark asked.

“Your parents wouldn’t approve of you being an experiment. For good reason. And I suspect the Justice League also wouldn’t approve.” Bruce finished drilling in the new camera. He handed the drill to Clark, who obediently held onto it while Bruce fiddled with the wires. Under his breath, Bruce murmured, “I’m not even sure if I should approve of it.”

Bruce’s lab wasn’t anything like Clark expected. Clark had imagined big, expensive machinery, people running around with labcoats and hazmat suits, hydro chambers lined against the walls. But while the batcave itself was large, the lab was just a cramped room that resembled a doctor’s office more than a setting from science fiction.

Clark sat on a medical table, unflinching when a light swung around and stared him directly in the eye. Bruce rolled his chair in closer, watching him closely. Here, Bruce’s cowl was pulled back. Clark knew Bruce’s real face from TV and newspapers, but the charming persona in the pictures wasn’t nearly as warm in real life. Bruce had a handsome face paired with a cold, stony gaze that seemed to penetrate Clark with a single glance. They were the eyes of a man concentrating on his work—Clark being the work. When Clark’s eyes dropped to his feet, Bruce forcefully lifted his chin up.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Bruce said. His voice was only slightly gentler than his gaze, thanks to the smooth baritone of his voice, but the tone comforted Clark nonetheless. Clark straightened his posture and looked Bruce in the eye. “Good boy.”

 _Good boy._ The phrase made Clark think of a dog. But it was the only type of positive reinforcement that Clark received from Bruce, and so he clung to the phrase, a pleasant warmth blooming inside of his belly. _Good boy._ Clark reminded himself of his reasons for being there. Of his _purpose_. Yes, he would have to be good for Mr. Wayne. There were people depending on him.

Clark sat patiently as Bruce shone a light into his eyes, checking his pupils. Clark stared into the light, unblinking.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Clark asked after a moment, his curiosity overcoming his shyness.

“I’m checking your retina.”

“Why?”

“A number of reasons.”

Clark realized quickly that was the best answer he was going to get.

“Open your mouth, stick out your tongue,” Bruce said.

Clark did as told. He must not have opened his mouth wide enough, because suddenly thick, gloved fingers were jammed into the corner of his mouth. The taste of leather was unpleasant, but Clark pressed his tongue forward anyways. His face started to heat with embarrassment. He felt strangely exposed, terror growing as he could feel saliva pooling into the corner of his mouth where Bruce’s thick fingers pried.

Then Bruce pulled back. Clark could still feel where the man’s fingers had been in his mouth and Clark was hyperaware of their absence. Bruce rolled to a table, writing something down.

“Take off your shirt,” Bruce said. 

Clark’s heart skipped.

Clark glanced at Bruce’s back, wondering if he was serious. Then his head lowered at the request, face burning. Bruce spoke so casually, still jotting down notes as he spoke. Clark was terribly modest. He always felt weirdly insecure about his body, scared that someone would notice something wrong with it. Something alien. Even so, Clark followed Bruce’s instructions. _Good boy_. Sucking in a breath of air, as if he was preparing to dive into a pool, Clark removed his shirt.

Bruce came back. He pressed a hand to Clark’s bare back, between his shoulderblades. Clark felt the smooth leather of his gloves, at first seeming so unpleasant in his mouth but now feeling so inviting when pressed against his bare skin. Clark patiently sat there as Bruce’s hands travelled, pressing against different parts of his body. Before Clark could ask what he was doing, he heard clinking metal. Clark glanced over his shoulder. Bruce had removed his bracers and gloves, setting it on a rolling table.

Clark tensed when bare skin touched bare skin. Clark had always imagined a billionaire’s hands to be smooth. Not Bruce’s. They were rough, like a farmer’s hands. It was strangely comforting to feel those callouses move over his body.

Clark’s breath hitched when Bruce’s hand roamed across his tummy.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m just getting a feel for your skin. Why don’t you take off the rest of your clothes and stand over there?”

Clark didn’t want to argue. He told himself this was no different than sharing a locker room at school. And yet, Clark felt incredibly nervous. Nudity around other people still felt taboo to him. But he also wanted to be _good_. The Justice League risked their lives everyday fighting terrible threats. They were brave heroes. The least Clark could do was take off his clothes for a study.

Clark got up, loosening his belt. He let his pants and underwear slip down his slender legs, feeling nothing more than the cool breeze of the room. Bruce had probably seen naked bodies a hundred times in all his research. Clark willed himself to calm down. He trusted Bruce. Bruce was a good man.

Clark stood at the place Bruce had pointed to, feet bare against the cold tiles. Bruce approached him from behind and Clark didn’t bristle, didn’t breathe differently, didn’t even blink as two hands fell on his shoulders. Clark waited for Bruce to measure him. To feel the texture of his skin. To pinch him, just to see if he would feel pain. 

But Bruce didn’t do any of those things.

Clark wondered about the way he was touched. The hands smoothed over his nape and shoulders. Back and forth. Back and forth. Bruce was testing his skin, and yet he wasn’t. Bruce stroked over the surface of Clark’s body, and as much as Clark tried to find a pattern, there was none. There was no method or reason for the way Bruce’s hand wandered across his shoulders, his spine, his hips... 

Clark heard a heartbeat skip and realized that he wasn’t listening to his own.

“Bruce?” Clark asked. His voice sounded the smallest it had since they had their first _real_ conversation, since they were strangers. Clark didn’t know why he spoke that way. He corrected his tone, speaking with more certainty. “What tests are we going to do today?”

“Do you know what the key to all of this research is?” Bruce asked suddenly.

Clark’s skin bristled at the touch of the man’s breath against his nape. Clark finally shook his head.

“Your skin.”

“My skin,” Clark repeated.

Bruce’s hands smoothed up Clark’s spine. Clark’s feet shifted in place, trying to keep his balance. Clark’s breath felt frozen inside his chest as Bruce touched him. There was something in the manner in which Bruce touched him that made Clark nervous in ways that it hadn’t before. Instead of touching and moving onto the next task, Bruce seemed to be admiring his body, every touch lingering. And what made Clark even more nervous was that he wasn’t just immune to the touch—he liked it. He found himself wanting to lean into it, to feel Bruce’s hands more.

Hands slipped around his waist. Clark watched the span of those hands, the way they blanketed over his small body. Bruce’s hands smoothed up Clark’s front, squeezing Clark’s chest. Heat prickled across Clark’s cheeks, heart racing faster and faster as Bruce massaged his skin, taking Clark’s nipples between his fingers. Rubbing and pulling. Clark released the breath that he’d been holding in, letting it shudder past his lips.

Sensations that Clark had never felt before began to course through Clark’s body. His skin felt hot, his heart racing. And beneath these new sensations was a feeling of dread. He should stop Bruce. He didn’t like how funny his body felt.

“Bruce?” Clark said. He sucked in a breath when a hand dipped down between his legs, touching that special, private place. Heat shot through Clark’s body, a soft whimper stolen from his lips.

“What?” Bruce asked, and the way he spoke had reverted to its usual self, all hard edges and steel walls.

“I don’t think you should be touching there.”

Clark was uncertain even as he spoke, and maybe that was why Bruce wasn’t scared away. Clark’s breath hitched as Bruce’s hand wrapped around his steadily growing arousal. Bruce’s touch was remarkably gentle, touching and fondling Clark in a way that was loving.

Clark hadn’t realized how much he had missed a kind touch. A touch that didn’t want something from him in return. He didn’t get much of those during training. Clark could feel his legs shaking as Bruce started to rub him.

“No. I shouldn’t be.”

Clark’s stomach dropped.

This was wrong. This was bad.

Clark couldn’t speak. Couldn’t swallow.

“You’re a very precocious boy, aren’t you, Clark?” Bruce said, voice low and smooth in Clark’s ear. Clark felt hypnotized, drawn to that voice, in ways he couldn’t explain. His small cock twitched in Bruce’s grip. “That’s what I like about you. You’re smart. You remind me of myself.”

Sudden emotion welled up inside of Clark. His eyes burned with tears. He was so lost and confused and embarrassed. He wanted to push Bruce away, but he also wanted to pull him in closer. He liked Bruce. But what Bruce was doing, by his own admission, was wrong. Most of all, Clark didn’t know why his body was acting this way. Was this normal? Bruce seemed to know what he was doing, which made Clark want to trust him, but it felt like they were doing something bad.

“Why are you doing this?” Clark asked. He squirmed, toes clenching, as Bruce’s hand twisted around his cock, massaging the shaft in long strokes. It felt so good. 

“I need you to help me, Clark. Your skin can save me.”

Without even realizing it, because he had been so distracted, Bruce had drawn closer to Clark. The rolling chair that Bruce was perched on was now bumping up against the back of Clark’s knees, his back against Bruce’s chest. Clark could smell the leather of Bruce’s uniform envelop him as closely as the arms that wrapped around his middle. Bruce’s face was buried in his hair, breathing him in, lips brushing against his scalp.

“How?” Clark found himself asking, still not sure if he wanted to know.

“Because you’re how I used to be, but better. You’re invulnerable. I’m a sick man, but I know you’ll help me, because you’re a very brave and smart boy who likes to help people. You’ll help me, won’t you, Clark?”

Clark didn’t understand what Bruce was trying to say. But he could hear the aching, desperate race of Bruce’s heart. The painful longing in his tender voice. It made Clark want to help him. So Clark chewed on his bottom lip and nodded, head bobbing against Bruce’s chest.

Bruce’s hand suddenly quickened. Clark twisted in place, hands grabbing hold of Bruce’s forearms, not to push away but just to have someone to hold. He could have pushed him away. He should have. But he didn’t. He just held on.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Clark said.

“Good,” Bruce said. After a moment, he added, “You’re different, Clark. Not just because of who you are and what you can do. I don’t think I’ve ever met a boy so fascinating.”

Clark squirmed in place, not sure where to stand, wanting nothing more than to desperately rut against Bruce’s hands. He felt drawn to Bruce’s words. Bruce thought he was special. Bruce thought he was fascinating. Bruce liked his skin.

“Bruce,” Clark said, unsure of what else to say. He let out a soft moan when Bruce's hand suddenly squeezed around his length, stroking him properly. Clark’s eyes grew heavy lidded. He focused only on the pleasure, the feeling of letting himself be controlled by an adult’s hands, hands that stroked his cock and nipples and made him feel good.

“It’s alright to feel good, Clark. You don’t have to hold yourself back. This is normal. This is natural.”

Clark’s mind resisted that. Adults touching down there went against everything he was taught. But how could Bruce be wrong? Bruce knew everything and Clarked wanted him to be right. He wanted to be normal. He wanted Bruce touching him to be normal.

Clark relaxed into Bruce’s touch. His lips parted as he panted, pleasure twisting in his voice as Bruce pumped his cock. Clark leaned back into Bruce’s body, quivering thighs spacing apart to give Bruce’s hand access. Bruce allowed Clark to balance on him, his hand picking up rhythm, stroking Clark faster, harder.

Clark couldn’t keep his voice down. He moaned desperately, over and over, his voice moving in rhythm with the strokes of his cock. He can barely stand at all, wanting to thrust into Bruce’s grip, to chase after the pleasure coursing through him. Heat rose throughout his body, making it difficult to concentrate. He stared down at where his cock disappeared into Bruce’s grip, over and over again, until he couldn’t concentrate at all. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He could hear Bruce, too. Bruce didn’t make a sound, but Clark could hear their matching heartbeats. He could smell Bruce’s scent, his faint cologne. Leaning into Bruce’s embrace, Clark could sense and feel every bit of excitement, arousal. Clark’s body fed off of that energy.

Clark’s body seized up, his toes curled as he came. He all but melted into Bruce’s body, moaning and whining as he reached his climax, legs trembling and making him feel weak. Clark fell into Bruce’s lap and stayed there, catching his breath. 

Once his orgasm settled, a wave of embarrassment flooded through him. He didn’t know how to explain to Bruce what he had felt and why he had felt that way. Why he had felt so overwhelmed and powerless.

But while Clark was trying to catch his breath, he could feel the tips of Bruce’s fingers ghosting over his skin, just barely touching him in a way that felt gentle and kind. Speaking in a whisper so low that it was soft even on Clark’s ears:

“Good boy. Good boy.”

Clark wanted to help Bruce.

He even liked helping Bruce.

What Clark didn’t like was keeping secrets. The meetings with Bruce were private, hidden from both his parents and the League. But it was important to not let anyone know that Bruce was sick. That he was _fucked up_ , as he liked to call himself in moments where they were alone.

Bruce told him things, like how his parents died. Like how Clark looked a lot like he did at the age that his parents died. That he wished he had had Clark’s bulletproof skin on that night.

It didn’t make a lot of sense to Clark. But it also never really mattered. If touching and tasting Clark’s skin made Bruce feel better, if it helped him in any way, if it could _save_ him, then Clark indulged him.

“Let me see.”

They were in Bruce’s room. They had long moved past the lab into Wayne Manor. Clark knew Bruce’s bedroom as well as he knew his own.

Clark didn’t hesitate at Bruce’s command. He let his pants slip past his hips like he had so many times before. He no longer felt shy or humiliated by his own nudity. Once he was naked from the waist down, he turned around for Bruce, holding onto the edge of the bed.

A hand roamed up Clark’s back and pressed, easing Clark into a deeper bow. Clark complied with the silent demand, feet naturally inching apart to allow Bruce to see everything. Clark no longer felt embarrassed at being naked, but there was a sense of nervousness that seized him every time Bruce touched him. He hoped Bruce wasn’t disappointed with him. He hoped Bruce was pleased. More and more, Clark wondered what Bruce thought about him, if he was truly being the good boy that Bruce wanted him to be. That _he_ wanted to be.

Clark flinched when those hands went back to his ass. At this, he always felt his nerves flutter. His heart raced and cock swelled with anticipation. He released the breath he had been holding when Bruce’s hand moved down his crease, grabbing hold of the base of the toy inside of him. Clark held still, trying to resist the urge to rock back onto the toy as Bruce jostled it inside of him.

This dildo was bigger than what Clark was used to. Steadily, they had been working on size, letting Clark hold bigger objects inside of him for hours. Maybe even a full day. Clark sucked on his lip as Bruce moved the toy. The more Bruce moved it, the more the head rubbed deep inside of Clark. It reminded Clark of how stretched and full he was. The toy rocked inside of him, pushing him open as far as it could go. Maybe it should have hurt. But for Clark, the friction and prodding around his entrance felt good. His blood was already hot. He sucked his lip harder to repress a moan, sounding off a weak whine instead.

He willed himself to stay in position—bent over, thighs spread—as Bruce started to thrust the dildo into him. This was what Bruce did, Clark had learned over time. He liked to say that he was just going to look, but then ended up playing and experimenting with Clark. It was one of the few things he knew about Bruce—he never meant what he said.

Clark’s hands closed into fists as the object started to move in longer, more forceful strokes. His breaths began to match the pace of Bruce’s thrusts. Clark’s hard cock swung freely between his legs. Clark shifted in place as best he could as he was rocked forward again and again.

The toy started striking him at an angle, pressing up against his prostate. Intense pleasure rushed through him. He felt like he was melting. He felt _weak_. His body trembled with his effort to keep standing. As it started to feel better and better, so good he could hardly stand it, his hips started to roll back to meet Bruce’s thrusts. The room was filled with the sounds of his moans and the squelches of lube.

Clark could feel the pleasure building up inside of him. His cock was so hard that it hurt. He wanted to beg Bruce to touch his cock, to bring him to orgasm, but he knew that demands wouldn’t work on Bruce. Bruce always set the pace, set the rules. And so Clark could do nothing but whimper and writhe, desperately fucking himself on the toy, trying to get deeper, deeper—

Bruce suddenly pulled the toy out all at once, making Clark gasp. But just as quick, Bruce grabbed Clark’s ass, spreading his hole open. Only then did Clark feel a flush of embarrassment at being exposed.

“You’re stretched wide open,” Bruce remarked. Heat rose on Clark’s cheeks. He didn’t know what to say. He whimpered softly when a finger lightly brushed over his open entrance. “And you’re still wet.”

A shudder rushed through Clark as Bruce continued to tease his entrance, that finger circling around his hole, just barely prodding against him.

“Bruce,” Clark whispered when he couldn’t handle much more, hands closing into fists.

“You’re such a good boy, Clark,” Bruce said, voice hushed and speaking in a certain tone that Clark rarely heard from him. “You indulge all of my sick desires.”

Clark wasn’t sure what Bruce meant by that, but he nodded.

“I want to help you, Bruce.”

“And you are,” Bruce said, finally releasing Clark.

Clark held his breath as he waited for Bruce to get his fly undone. He listened to the zipper, heart racing in anticipation. His knees felt weak when he felt Bruce’s hot erection lay over his crease. He could already feel the shape of it, the heat of it, even before Bruce started to penetrate. Clark’s eyes squeezed shut, savoring the feeling of Bruce pushing the tip of his cock inside. It entered him, then the rest of his length slid inside and Clark moaned.

Clark was so full, so stretched. Every inch of Bruce’s hot cock was buried deep inside of him, filling his small, tight body. Clark’s thighs were trembling. Only Bruce could make him feel this way. Only Bruce could pull such a reaction out of him, make him feel weak and powerless and vulnerable. Clark was itching to get Bruce to move, resisting the urge to push back on his cock.

Bruce started to move inside of him, the head of his cock grinding deep inside of Clark, rubbing against every sensitive wall. Clark couldn’t keep his voice down, filled with whines and moans and gasps that made him deeply embarrassed when he heard them. He tried to let go of his feelings of humiliation, of self-doubt, of his anxieties that they were doing something wrong… the only thing that mattered was that he was helping Bruce. That he was doing something _good_.

Bruce started to fuck deeper, faster. Clark held onto the bedspread. With every drive forward, Clark nudged up against the edge of the bed. His body was rocked back and forth, Bruce holding onto his hips for leverage. Bruce groaned softly, but Clark heard it clearly, the sound making his cock twitch against the mattress.

Bruce grabbed onto Clark’s hips. Bruce was so big in comparison to Clark. Clark was vaguely aware that Bruce would have been too much to handle by anyone else with Clark’s size. He could feel the way Bruce filled him out, the way he stretched him open. Bruce grumbled heatedly, praising how tight Clark was. But Clark felt no pain, just pleasure. He liked the feeling of Bruce filling him to the brink, the stretch he felt in his thighs as he opened himself up to be fucked. He wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know this wasn’t human, he didn’t care to know, he just wanted Bruce inside of him.

Bruce picked up the pace. Clark’s voice picked up, moaning and gasping as Bruce fucked him faster, harder. Their hips collided, Bruce’s grip tightening as he pulled Clark along the length of his cock. Clark’s fists squeezed around the sheets, eyes rolling back, as pleasure raced through him. The delicious friction of Bruce rubbing inside of him, the heat of his thick cock, the assault on Clark’s prostate—it was all too much.

Clark always wanted this. Even though all of this was for Bruce, even though it was wrong and bad, Clark liked being fucked by Bruce. He thought about it when he was at home, when he was training. He was meant to be with Bruce. And any time Bruce teased him with his toys or fingers, all Clark wanted was to be held down and split open and fucked by Bruce.

Clark felt heat rushing through his body, tremors racing down his spine. He’s on the tip of his toss, holding himself up as Bruce fucked him hard enough to make the bedframe tremble. Bruce held Clark up high enough to fuck him. Held him like the child Clark was while he fucked him like an adult. Bruce rammed his cock in, again and again, the force of his thrusts causing Clark’s cock to rub up against the bed, and it suddenly felt too much.

The pleasure built up inside of Clark. He could smell Bruce’s sweat, hear his ragged breaths and racing heart. His senses were filled with sex. Clark’s elongated moans began to fade into cries. Familiar sensations rushed through Clark’s body, racing down his body, heat pooling into his groin—until, with a gasp and a whimper, Clark came.

His thighs trembled, his small cock twitching in its prison between Clark’s tummy and the mattress. Clark seized up as he came, body clenching around Bruce’s cock tightly, his toes curling. 

Bruce groaned and held Clark down to the mattress, fucking him through the boy’s orgasm. Clark rode the pleasure of Bruce fucking into his sensitive body. He was used to Bruce taking what he wanted, even when Clark finished. Clark clenched his jaw, holding back his whines and whimpers as Bruce finished inside of him.

Bruce’s breathing ceased for a moment, followed by a muffled groan as he reached his climax.

Clark had already braced himself for it, feeling the hot, thick seed flood into him. He had learned to love the feeling. It was dirty, wrong, but he liked how full it made him feel. As if Bruce had left a trace of himself there, as if Bruce had marked every inch of Clark’s body. Maybe it was strange to think this way, but Clark knew it felt good for Bruce, and that was the focus of this mission.

Bruce pulled out of Clark. Clark moaned softly as the ejaculate slid down his crease and thighs. He should clean off. He would, in time. But first, Bruce takes the mattress. Clark went to him, tucking himself against Bruce’s side. Bruce didn’t hold him, didn’t say anything. But Clark could sense that Bruce needed this closeness, somehow. That it wasn’t enough just for Bruce to touch and use Clark—what he needed was another body against his. Clark could tell by the way Bruce’s heart always slowly evened out.

Bruce needed this.

Clark didn’t feel heroic, just tired and dirty. He rested his head against Bruce’s chest, wise enough to realize that this man had misled him. That these studies of his skin, if it could be called that, could help people. But there was something humbling in the sweat and sex that stuck to Clark’s skin—something human.

Clark listened to the calm rhythm of Bruce’s heartbeat. Clark’s skin wasn’t going to save the world, but he could help Bruce. And if all Clark could do was help one person, he would do it, because that’s what heroes were supposed to do.

**Author's Note:**

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